Voices of Tir Chonaill
by Sylvera
Summary: One-shot. You're an aspiring journalist whose guild runs a newspaper. You'd like to help them out, but for now, you do grunt work. Your first assignment? Interviewing the residents of Tir Chonaill, and asking them questions submitted by your guildies.


This idea came to me a few weeks ago. I worked on it a little at a time, and finished it today. It's a little unusual, and I'm not sure how interesting it actually is. But I'm proud of the fact that I actually finished it, and so I hope that you enjoy it.

* * *

**Voices of Tir Chonaill**

You run up the stairs, notebook in hand, past the huge tree. As always, Chief Duncan is standing in front of his house, staring into space. As kind as he is, you always feel a bit intimidated around him. Somewhat nervous, you walk up to him. "Excuse me?" you ask.

He turns around and notices you. "Hello," he says.

He takes a good look at you. "You look quite a bit younger than the last time I saw you," he notes.

You look down at your twelve-year old self. "I was reborn again a few weeks ago," you tell him.

He smiles. "You're very lucky to be able to do that," he says. "To be able to remain young forever if you wish…it's an incredible blessing."

You look down at the ground, shifting your feet a few times. "I have a few questions for you. See, my guild has this newspaper that gets sent out every other week. This time, we're interviewing the residents of various towns, and we're starting with Tir Chonaill. Everyone sent in questions to ask, so…"

You trail off. You've always rather liked writing, so not too long ago you finally asked the head of the news staff about helping them out. However, you didn't really expect them to start you out doing things like _this_. Maybe they didn't like the sample article you gave them when you asked?

Either way, you're the one who was sent to ask the questions that the rest of the guild submitted. You have a lot of people to ask questions to, but thankfully the deadline isn't for a while.

"So you want to ask me some things?" Duncan asks.

You nod. "Well then, ask away," he says.

You look at your notebook, flipping through the pages and trying to find the questions. "Um, first off, what's so special about that bird in the tree over there?" you ask.

The bird in question is sitting in its nest, slumbering away as usual. Duncan is very protective of the little creature for some reason. You're not sure if it's the specific bird, or if he's like this with all animals.

"Nothing much," he says. "But you see all these adventurers trying to knock branches from the tree, and the poor bird can't sleep when its tree is being shaken like that."

You recall seeing a newcomer to Erinn trying to hit the bird with rocks. Duncan was furious. It wasn't pretty. You wonder if perhaps that's why you don't like talking to him.

You nod. "Next question," you say. "How long have you been in charge of the village?"

* * *

"And that's how the cat got there," Duncan finishes. "Is that all?"

Your hand is sore from writing all these things down so quickly. You can't imagine doing all the interviews you have to do, but you suppose you have no choice. You've made a commitment, and you intend to finish it. You wave goodbye, and run off to the general store.

It's early in the morning, so there isn't anyone else in the shop. You walk up to Malcom, who's sitting at a desk writing something. "Um…"

He turns around, looking surprised. Hastily, he stuffs the piece of paper into a drawer. You're curious as to what he was doing, but you don't want to bother him by asking. "My guild has some questions for you," you tell him. "Should I come back later?"

"No, it's fine," says Malcom. "It's not like the shop is busy right now."

You take out your notebook and your pencil. "Someone would like to know what those tents are doing in the back if you aren't planning on selling them," you tell him. "Could you explain?"

Malcom looks around the store. He looks somewhat confused. You point out the tents for him, and he nods. "Yes, those," he says. "They're mine. I rent them out to my friends sometimes."

He looks back at you. "I prefer not to let Milletians borrow them, though. It's nothing personal, don't get me wrong. It's just that when I have, they usually come back dirty or broken. So I'd rather you and your friends didn't ask about it."

You nod. You can certainly understand his point. After all, people like you get into dangerous situations pretty frequently. It would be easy to damage something like a tent without intending to. Quickly, you write down his answer. He waits patiently for you to finish.

When you're done, you look for the next question. Upon finding it, you make a face. _How long have you been crushing on Nora, and when do you plan to tell her? _it reads.

You figure that it would be best not to ask this question.

The next question is much less embarrassing. "How come Nora sells the cooking tools, when in all the other towns they're sold in the general shop?" you ask.

Malcom thinks for a little while. "It's because we don't have a designated clothing ship here," he tells you. "I'm already selling a lot of things as is, so she covers that."

You go on to ask a few more questions, and he answers all of them thoughtfully. Once you finish, you close your notebook, thank him, and walk out the door. Through the reflection on the windows, you see him return to his desk. Whether he's recording sales, journaling, or perhaps writing love letters that will never be sent, he seems awfully focused on it.

* * *

"So the next question is…why are you so worried about your weight?" you ask. "The person who asked this question thinks you look just fine."

Caitin smiles nervously. "Thank you, but could we move on to the next question?"

You'd like to know the answer to that question as well. The young woman in front of you, while not as thin as some of the others around town, is certainly not fat. At least, not by your standards. But you know that this topic makes her uncomfortable, so you move on with the interview.

* * *

After a few more brief interviews, you realize that you're learning quite a bit about the residents of Tir Chonaill. You've learned what Ranald's favorite type of wine is, and how exactly Lassar repairs wands (although she doesn't want to reveal _all _her secrets). You've found out how Deian tells his sheep apart, and what Alissa does with all the money she's given by the people who want to use the mill. Maybe running around doing the things that the rest of the guild doesn't want to do isn't really so bad.

Then again, it IS exhausting.

Midway thorugh your conversation with Bebhinn, you're asked who else you have to interview. "It can't be too many," she says. "After all, there aren't that many people around here worth talking to."

You think for a moment. There's Trefor and Dilys, although you're not sure anyone has questions for Trefor. You still need to talk to Nora and Piaras, as well as Endilyon and Meven. And…oh yeah, there's Ferghus. Ohh, man. You're certain that most of the questions for him are really along the same vein. There was one more person after that, but you can't remember his name. It certainly didn't seem familiar to you. This strikes you as odd. You've been to this town so many times, so how can there be someone important enough to interview that you don't know?

"Eight more people," you tell her.

Bebhinn looks shocked. "That many? Looks like you've got a lot of work to do."

You nod. "Well, I hope your guild is paying you well, at least."

After assuring her that yes, you're getting paid a reasonable sum, you start on your way out. She waves goodbye. "See ya," she says.

* * *

You walk up the path to the Healer's House. By this time, you've become awfully tired. You know that Milletians like yourself don't require that much sleep – although you certainly like to sleep for a long time if given the chance – but you've been doing these interviews for quite a while. Even so, you'd like to get one more in before taking a nap.

You walk through the door, and see Dilys talking to a boy who appears to be hurt pretty badly. "It was the red spider!" he whimpers. "I was out gathering cobwebs to make silk for my girlfriend's new outfit, and the red spider just went after me. I didn't even have my sword out!"

Dilys notices you. "Could you wait outside for a moment?" she says. "I've got to get this guy patched up."

So you walk back outside, and sit down. While you wait, you take out your notebook and look over your progress. You're pretty sure that you're doing well. You've asked all the questions that your guild submitted, and you've recorded their answers in as complete a way as possible. You did, however, refrain from asking the unkind or overly personal questions. You hope that this decision won't disappoint anyone.

Finally, the boy walks out of the Healer's House, with several bandages all over his body. You figure he must be new to Erinn, as most people you know are perfectly capable of killing a red spider.

You step inside, and stand in front of Dilys. "Excuse me?" you say.

She looks at you. "Are you here to buy potions?" she asks.

Your supply of potions is just fine, actually. "No, I bought a bunch from Manus the other day."

You explain about the interviews, and why you're doing them, and she seems to like the idea. So you look at your notebook. "First question: why don't healers sell mana potions?"

She smiles. "A lot of people ask about that. It's because mana herbs are very difficult to find outside of dungeons. The others can be found if you look hard enough, so we always have a good supply."

You've never found anything except base herbs outside of dungeons. You consider asking her where she's finding the bloody and sunlight herbs, but you decide against it. You're not a trained healer, after all. She was probably taught how to find them.

You ask her a few other questions, like how many people she sees every day, and where the heck she finds those phoenix feathers. "Speaking of phoenix feathers, do they work on regular people?" she asks.

"Not if they're already dead," she says. "But they can be used to heal things that wouldn't be treatable otherwise.

She sighs. "Did you see that kid who was in here before you? People like you ought to be more careful. I see so many of you just running into danger without thinking. Just because you can't be killed doesn't mean you shouldn't care what happens to you. I mean…doesn't it still hurt?"

You nod your head in agreement, understanding what she's talking about. You _have _seen a lot of careless adventurers running around and attacking anything that moves. Personally, you try to be careful, but you've had your share of injuries, and you've been knocked unconscious more times than you can remember.

You ask her if that's why feathers are so expensive. She nods. "We need most of them for regular people. For Milletians, things that would kill someone like me are just an inconvenience. You don't need them as much as we do."

Your last question is why she keeps letting Trefor leave things with her. After all, it's no secret that she generally dislikes men. She thinks about it for a while, and finally answers. "It's because I respect his position," she says. "I don't care for him personally, but he does help keep the town safe. I figure I owe him for that."

She pauses. "Is that all?"

You nod, and she wishes you good luck with the rest of your project.

* * *

The only interesting question you had for Trefor was whether all the stuff in that book about him is true. He insisted that it was absolutely truthful. You don't think he noticed you rolling your eyes.

The next person you get to is Ferghus. He appears to be making something, but you can't tell what it is. When you tell him about the interviews, he says he'd be glad to answer some questions.

You start out asking him where he learned to be a blacksmith. He laughs loudly. "Where did I learn?" he repeats.

You nod. "You know…where did you train? Who taught you?"

"No one taught me!" he exclaims. "I trained myself! Everything I know is self taught. Who needs experts, anyway? I'm every bit as good as they are!"

You write down his answer in your notebook, following it with "this explains a lot."

You follow with the next question: why aren't there any anvils or forges available for use? "'Cuz I can barely afford stuff for myself," he says. "I charge those cheap prices, remember? I make sacrifices for kids like you."

You go through a few more questions, before finally asking the one that everyone REALLY wanted the answer to. "Why do you break stuff so much?"

He stares at you. "Excuse me?"

You repeat the question. "Why do you break people's stuff so often?"

He groans. "It's not _my _fault that you people aren't careful with your weapons! Half the time, you don't even bless them first!"

You recall the last time you saw him. Your battle sword has never been the same since. And as a matter of fact, it _had _been blessed.

"I just don't get why I get all those complaints!" he says, sounding irritated. "I think I do just fine! I mean, what's a little crack or scratch, anyway, as long as it's still pointy?"

You underline that last bit, with a little note saying "this is what Ferghus actually believes." You tell him that's all, and thank him.

"Wait!" he shouts, as you walk away. "Lemme take a look at that sword of yours. It looks like it could fall apart any minute!"

* * *

After some nice talks with Meven, Endilyon, Pieras, and Nora, as well as a good long rest at the inn, you pull out your notebook again. There's still one person left to talk with. Your guildmates say his name is Tarlach, but you've never met him. Apparently, you have to go at night. It's almost 5:00, so if you have to go all the way up to Sidhe Sneachta, it should be past 6 by the time you get there.

You start walking up towards the gateway. You're not sure exactly why it's important to go at night, but you trust your guildmates to know what they're talking about.

As you walk up to the large stone structure north of town, you realize how worn-out you are. You've been at this for a very long time, and aside from the detour at the inn, you've barely taken any breaks. You hope that the news staff will appreciate your efforts. Then again, you're not too worried – any group like that would be glad to have a dedicated worker.

You step onto the platform, and in an instant, you're transported to the snowy field. You know people who hate the sensation of going through Moon Gates, Mana Tunnels, or things like this. But you can't understand that. To you, it doesn't feel like anything. It happens so quickly that there isn't any time for discomfort. One minute you're one place, the next, you're another.

The first thing you notice is the cold. It's been a long time since you've been here, and you've forgotten how bad it can be if you don't wear something warm. The outfit you're wearing at the moment is more suited for the warm climate of Rano than for a place like this. It's also snowing, and there's a bit of wind. It's getting a bit dark as well, which makes finding your way around a little more difficult than it should be.

You trudge through the snow, up to the field of snowmen. You're not sure why, but you hate those things. What are those teeth _made _of, anyway?

You look at your watch. Just a little past six. Hopefully, that's late enough. You walk up to the next gateway, hoping that it isn't much farther.

* * *

You pull your sword out of the dead coyote. You really weren't expecting to be attacked out of nowhere like that, but thankfully you're good at thinking quickly.

It's difficult to see through the snowfall, but you think there's something up ahead. It kind of looks like another gateway, but not quite.

As you get closer, you realize that it's not a gate – just a stone slab surrounded by pillars. It also seems to be a dead end.

You notice someone standing on the platform. Is this the right guy? When you're close enough, you see him clearly. He's a thin man of about average height, probably somewhere in his late twenties. He's wearing brown boots and an orange robe. He wears glasses, and his hair is blonde and wavy.

He doesn't notice you until you get closer. He stares at you, like you're the first person he's seen in days. You very well might be. "Excuse me, are you Tarlach?" you ask.

He smiles faintly. "I am. Is there something you want from me?"

"I just need you to answer a few questions," you tell him. "My…my guildmates sent them in."

He nods. "I see."

He seems to be OK with the idea, so look up the first question – _How do you smoke herbs?_

You weren't aware that was possible, and you have no idea why Tarlach would know anything about it, but you ask him anyway.

He makes a face. "What?"

You shrug, and remind him that you're not the one who made up these questions. He looks sternly at you. "Tell whoever asked that question to forget about it. It's not a good idea. _Trust me._"

You nod, despite the fact that you have no idea whose question that was. The next question is a little odd as well, but you ask it anyway. "How come you can still drink mana herbs if you're allergic to mana herbs?"

* * *

"Essentially, shapeshifting is very advanced magic," he explains. "Your average mage wouldn't be able to do it. So I'd advise the asker of this question not to try it. I certainly wouldn't be able to teach them, either."

You ask what that question has to do with anything, and he simply tells you to come back during the daytime.

You seem to have finished all the questions, and you're very relieved. You thank Tarlach for answering your questions, and run off towards the gate.

* * *

After a few hours of walking, you reach Tailltean. You wonder if maybe it would be a good time to get ahold of a rideable pet. Anyway, your guild stone is within sight at the moment.

You walk over to the stone, and pull out your notebook. Kneeling down beside it, you set the notebook next to it. A wave of white light moves over it, and then is gone. It's the guild stone's magic, ensuring that no one except other guild members will be able to touch the notebook.

You think for a moment, and then take out your pencil and a piece of sketch paper. You begin writing a note. It explains that you worked very hard on the project, and you hope that your work is appreciated. You mention that you asked all the questions except for the ones that would make the townspeople uncomfortable, and you hope that this isn't a problem. You thank the news team for the opportunity, and say that you'll be looking forward to the next issue of the paper, as well as the knowledge of whether you'll be working on the team.

You sign your name at the bottom, and attach the paper to the notebook. You're very glad to be done with the project. If you join the news team, will your assignments always be this exhausting? You hope not.

You stand up, and take a deep breath. What to do next? It will probably take a while for the results to get back to you. Basically, for now, you can do anything you want.

It doesn't take long for that question to be answered. An owl flies over to you, a note attached to its leg. The bird lands on a branch of a nearby tree, and you walk over to it. You stroke its head, untie the letter, and read it. It's from a good friend of yours. She says that she and a few others want to run Rundal Dungeon, and she'd like to know if you want to come with them.

You smile. Doing all that interviewing, you realize, has left you thirsting for something more exciting. It's been a while since you did a good dungeon run, after all.

You write something on the back of the note, and send the owl off. A quick check of your bag assures you that you're adequately prepared. You run off towards the shortest route to Rundal.

_I'm in Tailltean. Just finished my guild business. I'd love to come with you – just give me some time to get there. _


End file.
